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26 November 2013

The Demented Machinations of my Nocturnal Brain

My wife and enjoy going to the theatre, and so last night this is what we decided to do.

The thing is, though, I felt I couldn't be bothered to get our car out of the garage, at least not while we had a perfectly good wheelie bin sitting right next to the house. I decided we should use the wheelie bin to get us to the theatre.

There were a few problems to get out of the way first, though the first one (which was to do with motive power) was not regarded as a problem requiring my attention because I knew intuitively that there was some kind of power source - possibly electric, possibly gas from rotting vegetation that had previously been in the bin. I seemed to have a memory of having once before used this wheelie bin to get me somewhere, and it did it with a fair degree of power, and also quite silently.

The second problem was whether the two of us would actually fit in the bin, and I concluded that since we would both be standing up, one behind the other, the idea would (like the bin) have wheels.

The third problem, which proved to be somewhat more intractable, was presented when my wife came out of the house all togged up for the theatre in an ankle-length dress, and she had serious doubts about her ability to climb into the bin. A pair of shorts would have been better, but not to suitable for the theatre.

What eventually really killed the whole idea was the fourth problem: I realised that by the time we came out of the theatre it would be dark, and the wheelie bin wasn't fitted with lights.

It didn't occur to me to use the car, and since it was now clear that a huge party was going inside our house we decided to join it. When I say a huge party I mean more people than our house could normally accommodate, but fortunately I'd had the foresight to quadruple the interior size of the house without affecting the exterior dimensions (an idea I'd stolen from Dr. Who and his "TARDIS").

It's worth mentioning in passing that if you can do it, this is quite a neat trick because it means you can extend your house without the need for Planning Permission.

On entering the expansive reception area I found my uncle (whom I didn't recognise) sitting in an armchair with a 1950-style bakelite radio clamped to the side of his head, and I congratulated him on having his own personal hi-fi system. I then proceeded up two flights of stairs to the third floor that wasn't there the day before, where I had laid on a massive self-service buffet. All my guests were queuing up the stairs waiting their turn to get at the food (which appeared to consist mainly of cod fillets in breadcrumbs, a few sausages, and what appeared to be a large ham and egg pie which, when sliced, turned out to be something made using the recipe for Yorkshire Curd Tarts).

A woman behind me in the queue said she wanted one of the sausages immediately, which was quite rude, but as I was now approaching the food, I picked one up and passed it over my shoulder to her, during which passage it picked up a lot of fluff from my thick woollen sweater. Still, serve her right for being greedy, I thought.